Fade to Black
by derangedfool
Summary: I never know what to say for these. I mean, really, how am I supposed to sum this up with a few choice words that would compel someone to click on the link and read this? It's virtually impossible and frankly, I'm not that ambitious or clever. Why haven't


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Dislcaimer: Not mine. 

Note: Rory's still in high school, so this takes place any time after season 1. I'm basically ignoring season 2 as it applies to Rory's life, i.e. Dean's long gone by now, Tristan never left, and there is no Jess to complicate things. Or, if he is around, he's not an issue. It doesn't matter anyway, he doesn't show up. 

Thanks to all my dorks, even the evil ones. They know who they are. I loathe y'all. Bwah!

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Fade to Black 

"Can I touch it?", Lorelai asked eagerly, her eyes dancing with mischief, her fingers dancing along the back of the couch in eager anticipation.

Rory met her mother's eyes, her face reflecting equal parts amusement and embarrassment. "No." 

"Please? I bet it's soft, it looks all soft."

"No."

"He's even got that tousled thing going for him which makes it all stick out every which way and it's all anyone can do to not try and mash it down." 

"There will be no mashing."

"_You_," Lorelai said pointedly, sticking her tongue out at her daughter as Rory turned to look back at the sleeping boy, "take away all my fun." She paused before continuing, taking a moment to also look at the boy. 

They'd come home just a little while ago to find him taking up residence on their couch – most likely having fallen asleep while waiting for Rory to return. The first time it had happened, they'd been caught off guard until they realized that he'd gotten in via the back door, the same back door that hadn't been repaired after Luke had broken the lock. Now, however, it was nothing unusual, especially given that it wasn't too long before he'd been apprised of the spare key's locale; more often than not, they'd come to expect him. 

"The least you could do is let me live vicariously through you. You owe me that much, for all the toil and tears and sweat and mfpt…" Lorelai's voice trailed off into muffling, as Rory clamped her hand over her mother's mouth.

"Shhh! And you forgot blood," Rory hissed, before removing her hand. 

"What?"

"'Toil, tears, and sweat' is usually preceded by blood. At least according to Winston Churchill."

"Oh right. Well, there's not been all that much blood, granted, but if Churchill wants blood, then blood he shall have."

Rory rolled her eyes dramatically. "Isn't there someone else you can bother. Luke? Kirk? Sookie?"

"Nope." Lorelai grinned playfully. "I wanna bug you. Consider it a mother's privilege."

"Lucky me," Rory replied dryly.

"Indeed you are. You scoff now, but just you wait until you're at Harvard hobnobbing with all those boring intellectuals who'd rather discuss Newton's laws of motion or transcendentalism over the latest boy band scandal. You'll be running back to mommy in dire need of what you so cavalierly term bothering." She paused. "How can you not want to touch it?"

"Been there, done that." 

Lorelai quickly looked to her daughter, catching the small hint of a smile alighting on the younger girl's face. "Ooooh. This I haven't heard. Tell me more, it sounds dreamy."

"What? No." Rory avoided looking at her mother, for fear that the blush she felt creeping up her cheeks would only grow more pronounced. 

"Oh, come on. I want details, woman. Inquiring minds want to know…Well just my mind, but it suffices."

"My lips are sealed."

Lorelai scoffed. "Perhaps not, if you've 'been there and done that' like you say you have. And really, who could blame you?" She gestured to the boy below. 

"Mom!" Rory giggled softly. 

"Why so shocked? Unless, of course, you have something to be shocked about." Lorelai narrowed her eyes. "Why are you giggling? You have something shock-worthy don't you? Don't you? Spill it, giggle girl. I command it." 

"Oh no," Rory said laughingly, "I have nothing shock-worthy. Nothing at all. I'm just prone to giggles."

"Hmph. I sense you're holding out on me, but fear not. I'll get it out of you sooner or later. I just have to devise a plan. A sneaky, insidious, fail-proof plan. Just as soon as I have some coffee. Coffee first, then the planning can commence." Lorelai dramatically pushed herself off from where she was leaning on the back of the couch. 

"Good idea. Why don't you get started on that plan? And I think this calls for Luke's coffee, because said planning deserves only the best, don't you think?"

"Don't think I don't know that this isn't just a ploy to get me out of the house so you can have his hair all to yourself. And it's only working because I am weak of will and need liquid nourishment."

Rory turned, feigning surprise. "Oh no. You found me out. Aren't you gone yet?"

"I'm leaving. And now I'm gone." The sound of the front door closing reverberated throughout the quiet house. 

Left in silence, Rory continued her study of the boy. This was her favorite part. Just watching him…because she could. Because now it was right. And because now, she knew more, felt more. 

Sometimes it was all a marvel to her, how things had changed, how they'd led to this very moment. She'd convinced herself of the impossibility of it for so long that she hadn't realized what was happening until it had already happened. She wasn't supposed to want him. Need him. But she did. And she couldn't imagine going back to whatever was supposed to be if it didn't include this, include him. 

He shifted slightly, turning onto his back more fully and allowing her a better view. His shirt had come un-tucked and was now just as wrinkled as the khaki pants he wore. He wore the disheveled look well, all the while exuding just enough of that trademark charm and cheek. 

Sensing someone watching him, he warily opened his eyes, not sure of what to expect. He relaxed immediately upon meeting clear blue eyes. "Hi," he said quietly, his voice scratchy from sleep

"Hi yourself. Good dream?" Rory asked knowingly. 

He grinned, not even attempting to look the least bit ashamed. "Oh yeah."

Intrigued, Rory raised her eyebrow. "Well…?"

"Hmmm…let's see. Empty beach, the clearest, bluest water, and of course, you."

She rolled her eyes. "Please. That sounded exceedingly rehearsed."

"Okay fine. Angelina Jolie. But I firmly believe that, had I dreamt a little longer, you would have come along and kicked her ass."

"Let me guess. It's the lips." This time he had the good grace to look somewhat remorseful. "That is so predictable." 

"Well, you have to admit, they are nice lips."

"I'd rather not," Rory remarked, not sounding as nonchalant as she hoped.

And because he was ever so perceptive of everything Rory Gilmore, Tristan noticed. "What's this? Do I detect an inkling of jealousy from Rory Gilmore?"

Rory scoffed. "I am not jealous. And especially not over Angelina Jolie and your fascination with her lips." 

Tristan nodded, knowingly. "Uh huh. The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"Oh, shut up, Gertrude," she shot at him. 

"Great comeback, Rory. All those books you read and big words you like to use, and that's the best you can come up with? Tristan made a tsking noise and wagged his finger at her.

She glared at him. "You are so infuriating, Tristan. You can't even begin to fathom just how infuriating you are. No one else can possibly be this infuriating, with the possible exception of Martha Stewart."

"Martha Stewart?" He asked cautiously, knowing full well that he might regret asking for an explanation once she gave it.

"Yeah. You know, she's always so perfect with her perfect pastries and her perfect gifts, handmade no less, and her perfect manners and…just all that perfect!" Rory walked around the couch and grabbed a small pillow, wringing it in her small hands. "It's too much! How much perfect can one person take?"

"Whoa. Release the pillow." Tristan sat up and grabbed the pillow from Rory's hands before she could inflict more damage. I'm with you on the Martha Stewart thing and even if I wasn't before, I am now, 'cause frankly? You're kind of scaring me right now and I fear that any disagreement from my end would push you right over that edge you're so precariously hanging from. You know, that edge of _sanity_?"

"I loathe you," Rory said, her words clipped and her voice tight.

Unfazed, Tristan replied, "As is your right." He paused. "It's kind of funny, though."

Curious, she took the bait he offered. "What is?" 

"You. Getting all agitated over someone else being so perfect."

Rory sat down in the closest chair, tucking her legs underneath her. "How is that funny?"

Tristan sighed and looked at her pointedly. "Rory. Martha Stewart isn't the only one who's cornered the market on perfect. You could give her a pretty good run for her money."

"Me? I'm not perfect." She sounded genuinely surprised that he would consider her perfect. 

Tristan chose his words carefully. "Well, I think a lot of people would disagree with that." 

"Including you?"

"Sometimes, yeah." He sounded reluctant, as if she'd touched on something he didn't want to delve into. 

She was silent for a while, not knowing exactly how to respond to his admission. They had always steered clear of anything that lent itself to looking beneath the surface – Rory, because she wasn't sure what she'd find and Tristan, because he didn't know how she'd react. And so they pushed it away until it was neatly buried under the teasing and banter. 

But now, there was no teasing, no banter to hide under. There was just the two of them and she felt exposed. It unnerved her to know that he perceived her in a way that she didn't perceive herself. And what was more unsettling was that it mattered to her – more than she was willing to let herself admit – what he thought of her, about her. She couldn't help but wonder what it all meant. 

"I'm not. I don't know why you'd think that, but I'm not."

"Okay."

"You don't believe me," she stated, matter of factly.

"No, it's not that. It's just…you know what? Nevermind, it's stupid." This conversation had suddenly entered into territory that he'd long ago abandoned, having determined it was futile to hold onto to something – someone – that was so completely out of his reach. 

She knew he had something more to say, and that it wasn't stupid, but she willed herself not to ask him again, lest she sounded too desperate. It was a line they had tacitly vowed not to cross, long ago, when they had decided to give each other another chance. They needed each other; by this point, they both knew that. It was the one aspect of their relationship in which words didn't come into play. And now, seemingly out of nowhere, this was becoming something more.

"What about the other times?"

"What?"

  
"You said sometimes. What do you think the other times?"

He was clearly uncomfortable, if the pleading note in his voice was any indication. Not to mention that he wouldn't look at her **and** he was idly picking at the fabric of the couch. "Rory, just forget I ever said anything, okay? I was just teasing. It didn't mean anything."

"You wouldn't have said it if it meant nothing."

She took his silence for what it was – acknowledgement that she was right in her conclusion. When he finally looked up to face her, she noticed that his eyes were guarded. Guarded against her.

"All right. Other times, I don't think you're so perfect. I think you confuse me and I think you don't know you confuse me. I think that sometimes you're not aware of other people. I think that sometimes it would be easier if we weren't friends."

Her eyes burned at his words and she nodded, unable to form words around the lump that had taken up residence in her throat. "Oh." This hurt. It hurt more than she thought it would and much more than she would have liked. 

Tristan sighed, inwardly wincing at the distress he found swimming in her eyes. "It doesn't mean that I want it to be easy."

Again, she nodded, this time biting her lip and glancing away from him. Neither of them knew how long they simply sat there, waiting for the other to speak. And when it became clear to him that she didn't have any intention of saying anything to him, he realized there was nothing he could say or do to fix this. He stood up slowly and quietly, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself than was necessary. He wondered if he should tell her he was leaving or if he should just go. In the end, he merely smoothed his hand over the back of her head, bending down slightly to brush his lips to her hair. 

Rory felt him looking at her, but she knew he wouldn't approach. He'd been keeping his distance these past few days, not sure how she'd receive him. He'd shifted the balance they'd had and she was just now understanding that it was an illusory balance all this time. Maybe she'd known it, deep down in her mind and heart; if so, it was something she hadn't been willing to acknowledge.

And now they were both back at the same point they were right before they first began their second time around. It had been a while since she'd felt this awkward, this uncomfortable in anyone's presence, but it was not an unfamiliar feeling. It didn't take long to become accustomed to the feeling again. She'd always been a fast learner, and this was no exception.

But this time, it was more acute, more intense. She'd had him – or at least, what part of him he'd given her. And now she didn't. And she knew that the void he'd left behind was a feeling she'd never get used to. 

She knew it was as much her fault as it is his. She knew she was just as capable of talking to him as he was of talking to her. And she knew that he'd been waiting for her. But what she didn't know was that he wasn't waiting anymore. 

Lorelai stared at her daughter from across the small table. Rory had barely said two words to her since they'd sat down, so she knew something was wrong. She had to say something; the quiet was driving her insane. 

"You're moping."

Rory was quick to answer. "I'm not moping."

"You're moping now and you've been moping for the last three days."

"I'm fine," she said, somewhat evasively. 

"_You_ are not fine when you sit there and stare into your coffee instead of drinking it." This time Rory didn't say anything, and Lorelai took that as her cue to go on. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just some school stuff."

Again, Lorelai was disbelieving. "School stuff doesn't make you like this. Try again."

"Like what?"

"Mute, despondent, frowny – shall I go on?"

"No, please don't. I get the picture." Rory wavered a few times, before finally speaking again. "It's just something Tristan said."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter. It's just…weird between us now. And I hate that and I don't want to be like that, but I just don't know what to say to him right now. But I feel like I need to say something, because if I don't, this…this thing between us is just going to get bigger." Rory looked up at her mother. "You're sorry you asked, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not. I'm kind of relieved, because you really don't want to know what was going through my mind." Rory opened her mouth to protest, for she knew exactly what her mom had been thinking, but Lorelai cut her off. "I know, I know, slim chance, but it was the first thing that came to mind."

"Tristan and I, we….we aren't like that. We're not even close to that. We're friends. Or we used to be. I'm not sure what we are now."

"Well, if I recall properly – and I do - friends can turn into something else pretty damn quickly. And with you two, who knows what could happen."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you both act like you're together, but you both claim you're not. It means that every now and then, when you're not looking, he looks at you like it hurts. And it means that even if you don't know it yet, you look at him the same way. It means that there's almost always this undercurrent of something more between you two. It means that you're more than friends, but less than anything else."

There were times when Rory wished her mother didn't know her so well; this was one of them. "You're wrong." She sounded desperate, as if she was trying to convince herself instead of her mother. 

Lorelai didn't say anything, only looking into Rory's eyes to know that she'd pushed enough. She nodded and smiled slightly. "Okay."

Rory scrambled to her feet, the sound of the chair startling the other patrons in the diner. "I'm going home," she told Lorelai, before grabbing her backpack and nearly running out the door. 

Tristan was waiting for her when she got home. She'd only opened the door and stepped inside before realizing she wasn't alone in the house. She knew it was him before she saw him. Who else would it be? 

Rory leaned her back against the door for a few seconds, mentally preparing herself for whatever was to come. Walking into the living room, she saw him mindlessly thumbing through a magazine. She wondered briefly which one it was. 

"We have to stop meeting like this."

Tristan looked up immediately, not having heard anyone enter the house. He set the magazine down quickly and she sneaked a glance at it, noting it was an old issue of _In Style_. "Hey."

She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries, so she didn't extend one of her own. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought we should talk." 

"I don't really feel like talking right now."

"Yeah, well, neither do I, but like the song goes, you can't always get what you want. And we can't just leave things like this."

Rory relented, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. "Fine. Talk."

"You hurt me." He looked away from her, not wanting to see her reaction. 

Whatever she was bracing herself for, it wasn't that. 

"And I know I hurt you. And most of the time, I know we're past that, but every now and then, it just comes back up and it hurts all over again."

"How does that explain what happened the other day?"

"I don't know. All I know is one minute we were fine and the next minute we weren't. Or maybe we were never fine. Maybe this – you and me – maybe it's all been one big joke. Maybe we were fooling ourselves this whole time."

"Is that what you think?" Rory was confused now, and more than a little hurt. 

Tristan raised his head to look at her. "Honestly? I don't really know what to think anymore." 

"Do you really think we're not friends? Because I was under the impression that we were."

"So was I."

"Then what changed?"

"I thought I could do this. Just be your friend. I thought that it would be enough. But it's not…and what's more is that you don't seem to get it. You don't get that it hurts to be around you just as much as it doesn't hurt. And maybe that's not your fault, but I have to wonder if you're not seeing what's in front of you because you're just scared or because you just don't see it. See me. "

"I see you," Rory averred. 

"No, I don't think you do. I don't think you know how hard it was to start over with you after you'd said you hated me. I don't think you know that I still wonder if there isn't a part of you that still hates me. I don't think you know if you were being serious or not, but it doesn't matter, because you said it yourself – you wouldn't have said it if it meant nothing. And I don't think you know how confusing it is to go from being hated to being your friend and wanting more than that. You came back after the summer and you just put it behind you like it nothing had ever happened. And for a while, I did the same thing, because I figured that's what you wanted and I was still too caught up in you to even entertain what I wanted."

"So this is all my fault?" 

"This isn't about fault. It's about how for so long it's been about you and I just can't do that anymore. It can't be about you anymore. Especially not when, after all this time, you still don't see it."  


She hated that he sounded so defeated, that it was because of her he felt this way. "So what now?"

"I don't know."

"I don't hate you. I never did." He started to protest, but she continued. "I know, I said the words, but it wasn't about hating you. It was about hating how angry you made me and hating how you expected me to know you, want you even, when you wouldn't even give me a chance. How could I hate you, Tristan? I barely knew you." 

"Well you definitely had me fooled." He hesitated for a moment. "And now?"

"Now I _do_ know you. And from where I'm sitting, I think it's pretty clear that I don't hate you. You're exasperating, sure, and you're a tad too arrogant for your own good, and you still haven't come to appreciate fine mountain grown Colombian brew as it should be appreciated, not to mention your complete disregard for Liz Phair, but – and I'll say this only once, so listen up and burn it into your memory for all of eternity – you're worth all that. I'd even go so far as to say you're worth all that and then some."

"And?" Tristan prodded. 

Rory snickered. "What, you expected more? I think I've inflated that ego of yours enough, likely to the point that eventually, I'll regret having done so."

"Well until then, I'll make sure you enjoy the full benefits of your miscalculation."

"Lucky me." He didn't offer up another witty statement, and she debated with herself if she should question him about something he'd said earlier. In the end, her naturally inquisitive nature won out over that pesky little voice telling her to just skip over it and let it go. "So you like me, huh?"

"What?" He spit the word out, taken aback by her frankness. 

"Earlier. What you said . . . during your, um, outburst. That was about liking me, wasn't it?"

"You caught that, huh?" Tristan fidgeted uneasily in his seat. He wasn't quite sure where she was going with this, and he didn't know if he wanted to find out. 

Rory, on the other hand, found she enjoyed watching him squirm; more often than not, it was the other way around. "Hmmm."

He was immediately suspicious. "What? Why are you 'hmmming'?"

"It's just interesting, that's all."

"What is?"

"All this time…" she trailed off. 

"Are you planning on finishing your sentence or am I supposed to guess the rest of it?" he asked, exasperation bordering on amusement. 

"It just never occurred to me." 

Tristan rolled his eyes. "I believe I already mentioned that during my so-called 'outburst'."  
  
"I know, but I'm just now catching up. Wow. She was right. So many things make sense now." 

Her voice held just enough wonder and awe to distract him for a moment. "Wait a second. Who was right?"

"My mom."

"About what?"

"About you. About me. About you and me."

"Okay, Rory, you're going to have to give me a little more to go on, because I'm having just the slightest bit of trouble putting the pieces together."

"My mom…earlier…she said we look at each other. _Really _look at each other. Not just look at each other like we are now. She said that when I'm not looking, you look at me like it hurts." Her blue eyes pierced his. "Does it?"

Tristan didn't follow. "Does what what?"

"Does it hurt?" Rory clarified.

"Sometimes."

"Does it hurt now?"

"Rory, I –" She didn't let him finish. 

"Because it's not just you. She said that too, my mother."

"I like your mother."

"I like you." 

Silence befell them both. Tristan was caught off-guard for a moment and Rory immediately turned around so she wouldn't have to face him, desperately praying that she hadn't just blurted out the words she had just blurted out.

He decided to proceed with caution, but he couldn't quite keep the mirth out of his voice. "I thought we already established that."

"No, not like. I mean, yes, I like you. But I _like_ like you." 

This time, Tristan simply grinned as he listened to her mutter to herself – something about not knowing when to shut up and her unexplainable regression to middle school. He stood up and grabbed his car keys from the coffee table. 

Upon hearing the jingle of keys, Rory turned around again. "Wait, where are you going? You're leaving?"

"Yep."

She trailed after him to the door. "No, no, no! It doesn't work like this. I've just told you I'm in like with you and even though you obviously feel the same way, now you're supposed to say the words because everyone knows it's so much nicer hearing them. And we would probably laugh at ourselves for being rather silly, because, you have to admit, we've been idiots, me maybe more so than you, but that doesn't negate your idiocy. And once all of that preliminary pre-getting together stuff is out of the way, there will be the requisite embracing and kissing, and everything will fade to black! That's how it works. It's formula…it's scripted!"

He smirked. "I'm not exactly a by the script kind of guy. Too predictable and cliched for the likes of me."

"Oh for the love of God. Once, just once, can you not be so difficult? I've essentially mortified myself beyond any redemption, so you could at least be a tad less obvious about how much delight you probably derived from that performance." 

"Oh, but, where's the fun in that?" He knew he was only adding fuel to the fire, but opportunities to see her riled up and fuming were few and far between. 

She opened the door and shoved him under the threshold. "Fine! Just leave! Go harass some other poor soul. _I_ wash my hands of you." And with those parting words, Rory shut the door, leaving him standing on the porch, just a wee bit bewildered and very much amused. 

He was still standing there, when, a few seconds later – actually seven - the door flew open once again. Before he could even react, let alone say anything, she grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him abruptly. By the time he could gather his senses, she'd pulled away, though she'd still retained a firm grip on his shirt. 

"_Now_ I'm through with you." She disappeared inside as quickly as she'd appeared, leaving him on the porch yet again. 

Tristan laughed quietly to himself, making his way down the steps and to his car. "Highly unlikely, Rory Gilmore, highly unlikely." 

"Well?" 

Rory looked up from her book to find Lorelai standing in the doorway, not even trying to look unsuspecting.

"Well what?"

"Well something must have happened to make melancholy Rory disappear – forever and ever, I hope – and I'm assuming that that something had everything to do with Tristan. And I just can't wait anymore, so if you're not going to share willingly, I am not above invoking my right as a mother and as a woman to make you share. So do tell, and remember, no detail is too insignificant."

"There's nothing really. We just talked." Rory marked her page with a bookmark and set the book on the table beside the bed. 

"Huh. That must have been some talk."

"Explanation, please?"

"Well, you know, I'm just thinking about what could possibly have been said between the two of you that could explain your besotted state when I got home. Ordinary talking does not a besotted anyone make."

"I wasn't besotted," Rory denied. 

"You were so besotted. You and besotted were this close." Lorelai crossed two of her fingers to demonstrate. "You might has well have had a big flashing sign on your forehead, one that said "'Besotted and I are one.'"

Rory unsuccessfully tried to suppress a smile. "Are you done now?"  


"I could go on. I still haven't gotten to the part when you and besotted live happily ever after." 

"Oh, too bad. I guess I'll just have to tune in next week." Rory bit her lip. "I kissed him," she said quickly. 

Lorelai crossed the room quickly to sit next to Rory on the bed, both of them propped up against the headboard. "Continue please, and do include necessary backstory."

"Well, first, I told him I liked him and then I kissed him. I don't even know how it all happened - one minute we were talking, and out of nowhere, I blurt out that I like him. And not even that, I had to go and tell him that I liked liked him."

"Wow. All of sudden I'm having flashbacks to fifth grade." Lorelai shuddered. Rory glared at her. "Oh, okay, sorry. Um, well, it could be worse. At least you didn't send him a note asking 'Do you like me? Check yes or no.'" Silence. "Yeah, okay, bad example. But really, it's not that bad, it's kind of cute even. And it can't have been that big a deal, because somewhere between fifth grade and besotted, you kissed him, right?"

"Oh, it gets worse. Instead of saying anything after I've completely humiliated myself, he just gets up to leave. As if I hadn't just turned into an insane person right in front of him! He was so casual and acting like nothing had happened, so there I am, following him to the door like the crazy person that I am, and the whole time I'm ranting about how none of this is turning out how it does in the movies - I blame Hollywood for all of this, by the way – and when I'm done, he's just standing there with this smirk on his face." Rory rolled her eyes. 

"Oh, the nerve of him! How could he? He must be punished," Lorelai said emphatically, while desperately trying to stifle a laugh. She couldn't recall Rory getting so worked up over anyone before. 

"And of course he says something that's just so like him to say, so I say something back, and before I know it, I've pushed him out of the house and shut the door in his face."

Lorelai rubbed her hands together. "Ooooh, the good part's coming up, isn't it?"

"And so I'm standing there, trying to process what just happened in the span of five minutes and I swear, some demon force took over my body, opened the door, and kissed him. And then shut the door again. It's still all very fuzzy in my head."

"I'm still back at the demon force taking over your body. Give me a second to catch up." Lorelai paused for a second. "Okay all caught up. And again, I say wow. How was the kiss?"

Rory hesitated a few times. 

"That good, huh?" Lorelai asked, knowingly. 

  
"Yeah." Rory looked at her mom and sighed. 

"Wow." Lorelai sighed as well. 

"You said that already."

"Right. But still. It's enough to make me miss being your age – well, not exactly your age, because as much as I love you, I don't miss the three a.m. feedings or the constant diaper changing or even the - "

"Mom," Rory interrupted. 

"Yeah okay, back to you. In the present. So…."

"So…"

"Does this mean you two are going steady now?" Lorelai grinned. 

Rory stuck her tongue out at her. "Okay, bye now."

"Is he gonna pin you?" 

Rory turned her away from Lorelai and buried her head under a pillow. "Gosh, did you say something?"

"Will you wear his letterman's jacket?" Lorelai snatched the offending pillow away. 

"Night Mom," Rory sing-songed. 

"Awww, okay. But tomorrow we're picking up right where we left off, so don't think you're off the hook."

Rory mumbled, "Me? Never."

Before getting up, Lorelai tucked a stray hair behind Rory's ear and bent down to kiss her temple. "Night babe. Sweet dreams." She stopped at the door, looking back at her daughter. "Oh, and Rory?" Rory opened her eyes to meet Lorelai's. "Just for the record, those five minutes were absolutely right out of a movie. John Hughes had nothing on the two of you."


End file.
